


But what do I know?

by SadRoxas



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-19 23:17:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10650135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadRoxas/pseuds/SadRoxas
Summary: In the period of Stamkos being resigned.





	But what do I know?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venticaramellatta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venticaramellatta/gifts).



Steve sat at his cherry wood oak desk, thrumming his fingers rhythmically against the finished wood. He- He gets it, okay? He gets where Stamkos is coming from. He was a player, a captain once; so, he gets it. That doesn't make it any easier. Contract negotiations are always tough- Steve knows that but, this is near impossible.

Maybe he's being selfish- it's hard not to see a little of himself in the captain. A promising player, leading a team to what he hopes is the Stanley Cup, who's all but destined to be a franchise star. Steve wants for Steven what he had with the Red Wings. He wants Steven to love playing with Tampa Bay, wants Steven to take pride in his crest, wants him to call this place home. 

Steve pulls out his bottom drawer, glass clinking together. He pulls out an old, half-empty bottle of scotch and a crystal glass for himself. He pours enough to fill a fourth of the glass and immediately downs it. The liquid burns his throat and if he was still a rookie, he'd probably gag a little as it went down. But his rookie days are long gone, buried in the fabric of retired numbers and Stanley Cup banners.

When Steve closes his eyes, he can envision it. He can see it hanging in the rafters- a satin white rectangle, trimmed in blue. In bold, squared off numbers, 91 sits pretty, in the franchise bolt blue. Above the numbers the name "STAMKOS" is stitched perfectly. Below the numbers but above the outline he sees his career, 2008 to something blurry- he can't make it out. That snaps him out of this day dream-esq vision.

He pours himself another drink as the sun starts to set behind him. He downs the drink as quickly as the first and pours another. He keeps thrumming his fingers on his desk, something uneasy in the pit of his stomach. 

It's almost unfair- Steven holds the ultimate trump card. He can just leave. There are 29 teams that would gladly throw millions of dollars at Steven Stamkos. And from what it seems, Steven doesn't have anything keeping him here other than the nice weather and low tax rates. 

That thought makes a dull pain rise in Steve, creep around his bones, so he takes a sip of his drink. Sure, Steve would survive without Steven but it'd be awfully nice if Steven stayed and had what he had. Steve lets out a heavy sigh just as someone knocks on his door. He downs the rest of his drink and makes quick work of returning the bottle and class to their respective places in his bottom drawer. "Come in" Steve said straightening himself up.

Speak of the devil and he shall come. There Steven stood, tall and without suit jacket. "I thought I'd find you here" he said, voice cautious but not timid. "Yes well," Steve said demeanor returning "Work must be done" he motioned with his hand casually but the statement was still obviously pointed. Steven was silent for a beat. "It's 7:30, Steve" he said with the same pointedness. "I suppose it is" Steve replied. A silence fell again and all that was heard was the thrumming of Steve's fingers. 

Finally, Steven spoke again. "Let's call it a day, eh?" it was warm, a kind notion. Three more taps of his fingers before he stood up. "Sure, yeah let's call it a day."


End file.
